


Personas

by Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Companionable Snark, M/M, Talk of Suicide, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4454525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr/pseuds/Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To start a relationship, sometimes all it takes is a leap of faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He wasn't entirely sure that they would be wrong, those who assumed that his current actions were completely illogical and out of character. He was a desk-mech, after all, in their opinion. He was concerned with numbers, equations, tactics. He didn't get his hands dirty. Primus forbid, some of them said. The Smelter would go out before Prowl took to the field.

The uncomfortably loud music in the club reverberated in his chest, deepening the frown on his face. The others gave him a wide berth; it was obvious that he didn't belong in Kaon, despite having changed his paint and removed his Autobot symbol. He found that he felt an irrational anxiety without the familiar flash of red adorning his chest. 

Jazz, of course, was out on the dance floor, blending perfectly. A touch too perfectly, the sour thought came, perhaps forgetting their reason for entering the building at all. Still, shutting off his audios afforded the tactician the first silence he had chance to enjoy in close to half a lunar cycle so he couldn't be entirely miserable. His frown faded and Prowl found himself watching Jazz's movements intently, marveling at the grace the mech held.

The other dancers were giving the black and white agent almost as much of a berth as they were giving Prowl, though for the opposite reason. Instead of unease, this was respect. Jazz was an expert.

It was either an extremely slim mech or a femme who joined him, her/his movements just about as graceful as Jazz's. Instantly, Prowl tensed.

Then wondered why he had. Jazz was a known player, though he was not as free with his partners as many believed. The agent flirted shamelessly but had told Prowl, in a tone the tactician had been inclined to believe at the time, that he very rarely took the flirtations to the next level. Instead, he was more inclined to find the mech or femme someone else to spend time with, which also forwarded his reputation, as the new pair both contributed the fact that they were now together to Jazz.

Catching the agent's signal out of the corner of his optic, Prowl nodded and left the club, momentarily disoriented without the pounding beat of the music reverberating his armor. He reactivated his audios.

The sound of air displacement from an object rushing toward him would probably have been inaudible to anyone whose audios were recovering from the volume inside. Prowl ducked, sliding around to catch the arm and pitch the assailant over his hip. Tucking his doorwings securely against his back to keep them from becoming targets he spun again, lashing out from the opposite hip to catch another mech directly under the chin. The mech's amber optics brightened in surprise in half a moment, followed swiftly by pitch black. He hit the ground, processor offline to protect it from the sudden equilibrium shift. 

A pause lasting half a breath revealed at least one more attacker, prompting Prowl to shift quickly into a balanced stance. Two swift steps forward and his left fist was buried deep in the midsection of a mech with a green paint job and red visor, possibly identifying him as a Decepticon, though Prowl was starting to think that the attack was too disorganized to be anything more than attempted mugging. Even as the green mech was falling from his left hand, his right was swinging his acid pellet rifle around to present its tip directly between the optics of the fourth and final assailant.

"I do not suggest you attempt anything."


	2. Chapter 2

"Primus, I can't take you anywhere, can I?"

Jazz's lilting and amused tone only partly cut through the cool silence which had settled over Prowl's processor. He didn't shift his optics from his target but did send a sensor in the saboteur's direction, not  
surprised to find him hale and whole.

_This mech can provoke emotions in me when even Sideswipe can not_ , Prowl thought, feeling his jaw tense in irritation. "I am not the one prostrating himself all over the dance floor for any inebriated enough to take you up on the obvious offer," he returned, sensors cataloging the slight shift in Jazz's body posture for later analysis.

Or perhaps current analysis, as his processor outlined that the shift was one he had, a week ago, identified as something Jazz only did when bothered by something. _My words upset him? Odd_.

"You're...not actually gonna fire, are you?" Jazz's companion, the same as he had been dancing with inside, asked with no small amount of caution in...her...tone. The femme's voice was deep enough to pass as a mech but the tonal quality lacked several markers associated with the difference.

"He wouldn't. He ain't a killer," came Jazz's murmur, even as Prowl flipped his grip on the rifle so he was grasping the barrel instead of the handle, slamming it against the mech's helm. The move prompted an impressed noise from Jazz and a round of applause. Prowl suppressed a sigh.

_That was not for your entertainment._ He ignored, also, the irrational flicker of pleasure which came from the seemingly genuine approval from his cohort. _Violence is to be avoided, not applauded. I am not you._


	3. Chapter 3

"You infuriate me."

"Aw, thanks Prowl, that's sweet."

"I am being entirely serious, Jazz."

Jazz grinned at the darkness from which Prowl's voice was coming. He could tell the tactician was there because the light from his optics was reflecting off of the wall he was facing. Though he could hardly credit the tactician with such irrational behavior, Jazz imagined he was attempting to cow the wall into allowing him to leave by fierceness of expression alone. "Yer just upset that none a' yer fancy plans worked."

"And why, may I ask, are you not upset about our confinement?" Prowl's tone was tight and gritted, though the agent mused that it could be from the blow to the helm he had taken earlier. It had to have left the other black and white with a nasty cranial ache.

"Wastes energy," Jazz said comfortably, armor grinding slightly due to his shifting his position where he was propped against a different wall. "We'll be here a while. We don't got the luxury of wastin' said energy, considerin' I used up the backstore of energon in my pocket yesterday."

Prowl turned and fixed him with a stare. "Allow me to make certain I understand you. You are content to wait in this extremely small and unstable space until we are found or go into stasis from undercharge."

"That's right."

"You, who are notoriously restless and have been known to miss vital meetings giving the excuse, and I quote, 'the meeting room closes in on you'?"

"Right again."

"Why?" Prowl's expression was incredulous. Jazz knew that what he was about to say would either cause him a processor restart or...well, no. It would cause Prowl a processor restart. But he couldn't bring himself to lie to the tactician, even now.

"You're here."

As predicted, Prowl simply stared. "What..." Jazz could practically see Prowl struggling against cursing. At least, that's what it looked like. He could also have been struggling against a processor restart, but Jazz liked to imagine Prowl was as regular as the next mech and simply cursed in his mind instead of out loud. "...does that have to do with _anything_?"

"I happen to enjoy yer company," Jazz told him gently. "You inspire me to think in ways I normally wouldn't."

"Such as...?"

"I'm less reckless an' I think things through, more. For instance, if you'd been with me yesterday, I'd probably have kept some of the energon back for now."

"You were undercharged when I found you," Prowl murmured, apparently regathering his bearings. "If you had kept any of the energon you did consume back, it is likely you would not be online currently."

"I knew you cared."


	4. Chapter 4

After nearly a lunar cycle of constant contact to the point it had become more than irritating, Prowl was surprised to find that he not only missed Jazz, but he missed him to distraction. Even Prime had noticed, though the Prime was an extremely observant mech. Perhaps the statement should be: Prime noticed to the degree that he commented.

"Prowl, are you all right?"

"Ah...yes, sir."

"You seem distracted."

"I apologize." He looked up at Optimus, sure his expression was sharp and alert. "What do you need me for?"

"You've been standing in the middle of the hall looking at the same pad for the last half megacycle."

He paused, not entirely sure if he should be mortified or checking himself in to see Ratchet. He could see the same sort of speculation in Prime's optics. "I was unaware."

Though he didn't say it aloud, the word _obviously_ sprang from the larger mech's posture. "Go to quarters, get some rest."

"But--" Prowl checked his chronometer, just to make sure. "It is the middle of the solar, sir, not to mention my shift."

"You've been through a tough lunar. I know you expected yourself to just spring back but you need time, even if you don't see it." The commander's expression was sympathetic. It set Prowl's circuits on edge to be pitied, even by Optimus Prime.

"I assure you, sir," he replied aware his tone was stiff but not able to change it, "I am perfectly capable of performing my duties."

"I'm aware of that. I'm also aware of the fact that I received a report from you timestamped a megacycle after midnight, then another at 0500. Both times you should have been off duty, in quarters, resting." Optimus held up a hand when Prowl tried to speak, silencing him. "If you don't take time off now, at least twelve megacycles, I'm ordering you to talk to psyche. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

There was no disobeying a direct order, after all. Once in quarters, Prowl stared at his desk. If he worked on his reports the auto-save would timestamp the time he had been working, which would no doubt lead to the threatened visit to Smokescreen. He didn't want to talk to the head of psyche; Primus only knew what the mech would find 'wrong' with him and sentence him to more than twelve hours off shift. What was he expected to do while off shift? All of his hobbies had vanished the day Praxus had fallen. He didn't consider himself to have any friends among the other Autobots and even if he did, they would no doubt be either on shift or in recharge. He wasn't a bar mech, his armor crawled at the thought of the forced interaction with strangers that kind of situation implied.

And now that Jazz had disappeared, he didn't even have the saboteur's presence to occupy the time...

His annoying presence, that was. His annoying habit of dragging Prowl out to random clubs or cafe's, possibly simply to watch how uncomfortable he was in those situations.

Well, there had been several pads others had suggested to them, now was the perfect time for that. He would settle with some warm energon and read the time away, or read himself to recharge. That sounded enjoyable enough, so pad in hand, Prowl settled on his berth, warm energon at his side.

When his processor told him he had read the same paragraph on the opening page five times he frowned and stood, pacing a tight line. The others would no doubt be amused by his disgruntled expression-- instantly he found himself stiffening with embarrassment. This was absurd. He was alone!

Pacing in a circle, he sat on the berth once again, concentrating on the heat of the energon he was drinking and nothing else. When he was finished and only ten cycles had passed since he entered his quarters, he picked up his pad and left, allowing his hover treads to take him where they would.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey."

Prowl looked up, slightly irritated. He had finally settled at a vaguely familiar looking cafe which was importantly far away from the Autobot base and quiet. He nodded to a mech who his memory identified as the one who had brought him his drink about a megacyle before. "Hello," he said, sitting back in his chair to regard the cream colored mech with silver highlights.

"You're Jazz's friend." The way he said it, with laughter under his tone, caused Prowl's expression to flick to wry before he could control it. The mech lifted his hands in a calming gesture. "It's not a crime. He brought you here about a stellar or so ago."

Ah. So that was how he had recognized the cafe. "Some mechs might regard it as such. What can I do for you?"

"You're the one paying." 

It took a moment for him to realize the mech was joking. He offered a smile and was only slightly dismayed when the mech sat down across from him. The people Jazz knew would do this, he had seen, constantly. Sitting down with Jazz and whatever company he happened to have, asking him questions, unburdening themselves to him without the slightest invitation. The fact that they had included Prowl in their conversations had been simple manners, or so he had thought. Now that it was happening to him by mere association, he wasn't entirely sure.

"That is true," he said, lifting his pad slightly to signify he was busy. The mech didn't budge.

"You've got the look of a mech who needs to talk, even if you don't know it." When he opened his mouth with a polite refusal, the other mech held up a hand again. "He talked about you. A lot. He's late for a kind of meeting he'd never be late for if he was just resting or goofing around. Even if he were on a mission, he would at least send word."

Startled, Prowl frowned. "How do you--"

"I met him a long, long time ago. Before he was called Jazz."

Prowl attention sharpened and he focused on the mech completely for the first time. "Are you one of his?"

"Or he's one of mine. The lines blur after a while. I would appreciate it if you didn't arrest me." The odd smile had a challenge in it that Prowl found himself evaluating carefully.

"You are a sympathizer, all the same." He was aware his tone was coldly neutral and held a warning against the challenge the other mech had posed to him.

"I am. Do I get leniency because I admitted it?"

"You get leniency because you're under his protection," Prowl murmured after a thoughtful pause. The sharp look he sent the mech gave him another message; it was a gift that wouldn't be repeated if the mech got into the wrong kind of trouble.


	6. Chapter 6

"Jazz!"

The mech turned, expression surprised. "You're the last person I expected to see.”

Prowl felt a concerned scowl forming on his features; Jazz was standing at the exact edge of one of the deepest parts of the Rust Sea. It was a sheer cliff, straight down into clouds of mixed sulfuric and hydrochloric acid. “What are you doing? Get down from there!”

His smile was peaceful. “I'm committing suicide.”

“What?” His processor refused to believe the translation of his audio feed. “No-- I need to talk to you. Get _down_.” Perhaps the reason for Jazz's disappearance was now being revealed, or this was just another attempt to get Prowl's attention. What ever it was, Prowl was not about to let the agent vanish into the unknown depths. “What ever is bothering you, we can help--”

He was interrupted by a laugh. “Naw. Hey, c'mere.”

Willing to do just about anything so long as it prolonged the time Jazz spent on the edge without jumping, Prowl very carefully climbed up to stand beside him. The Rust Sea exploded before them, forbidden maw of color and unfelt texture.

“Great view, huh?” Jazz murmured, looking more up than out. Prowl couldn't help but nod.

"Yes, actually." He paused, watching the saboteur. "Why are you doing this?”

"Because I have to. See, there's this mech."

"I am sure if you simply spoke with him--"

"Ain't like that. He can't be spoke with. Thinks he's above all that, maybe, or just don't understand the ways of the spark."

"Jazz, please. Get down."

"Sorry, Prowl." Even as the apology left his vocalizer, Jazz was leaning forward, though he was pointing up. “The messengers of Primus approach. This's one party I won't be stayin' for.”

Following the fingers trajectory, Prowl gazed up like Jazz had been doing earlier, expecting to see nothing mor--

His startled optics beheld Seekers and abruptly he knew what the trail of cloud he had absently followed to Jazz's location had actually been: the exhaust from the pair of Seekers now approaching as they had chased Jazz here.

Jazz leapt.

Prowl lunged to stop him and overbalanced, sending them both plunging into the abyss. He started when arms closed around him; he looked up into Jazz's laughing face.

“You're beautiful!” Jazz was crowing, his face alight with what could only be joy. “Primus, you don't hate me! You _care_!”

“This,” the word tore from Prowl's vocalizer. He realized he had more felt Jazz's words than heard them. “Do...do not be ridiculous, Jazz, of course I care. Ever since you left I have been incredibly disoriented. Apparently,” his processor marveled at his ability to speak so calmly while he was falling to his death. Or would they fall forever? No one had ever mapped the bottom of this particular part of the Rust Sea. “Apparently,” he said again, gathering his thoughts, “I need you.”

Their lips met and Prowl knew his world, life and self were irreparably changed. The kiss. _The kiss_. He kissed back, no abashed at his lack of experience. Jazz, he felt, would not care _or_ mind.

“And you,” Prowl murmured, when the kiss didn't so much as break but pause, “have only ever needed me, haven't you?” His whole life would now be a pause between Jazz's last touch and his next.


	7. Chapter 7

"You have not explained why your paint has changed." The black armor had been coated in white so Jazz was now completely white, silver face and blue visor being the only touches of color on his form. Prowl lifted his head slightly, realizing the armor under his arms and hands didn't match Jazz's sight-familiar contours. "And your build."

A soft chuckle rolled from Jazz's vocalizer. It didn't seem to be worrying him that they were plunging toward the potentially deadly acid fog and an unknown fate beneath it-- if there was anything beneath it. For all Prowl knew the clouds could go straight to the bottom. "Necessary, when plannin' a leap of faith."

Greeted with the once again cryptic words, Prowl felt his irritation, until now banished by the new and entirely unexpected emotions Jazz had provoked from him, returning. "That is not an explanation, Jazz--" 

"Shush. I gotta concentrate."


	8. Chapter 8

The euphoria that Prowl had actually attempted to save his life and the revelation that the tactician returned his feelings in his own filtered Prowl way had faded when Jazz realized that his current means of surviving the fall might not support the added weight of a passenger. It faded even more when he came to the grim conclusion he didn't even have his secondary armor at the moment, other than slots to protect his horns and mask for his face. He had removed it so the added weight wouldn't throw the trajectory off. The mask would help protect his intakes if he gave the gear to Prowl, the slots would protect his horns and his visor was simply a sacrifice he would have to make. Hopefully Wheeljack wouldn't be _too_ upset with him for vanishing without a trace and be willing to either clean this one up or make a new one. He hated adding to the engineer's already hefty workload, but hey, sometimes friendship went that way.

The acid clouds were approaching quickly. His rate of decent was close to twice what he had calculated and experienced from previous jumps. _Too many unknown factors._ _The breathing capsule and tearaway armor are only configured for one. If I give Prowl time to object he'll kill us both._

Knowing the tactician was likely still a touch dazed from the rate of decent, not to mention the kiss, Jazz grabbed his arms and thrust them away from him, pushing Prowl into a free-fall which, with a twist of their bodies from vertical to horizontal, raised their wind resistance and slowed them. Though the change in speed gave him time to work, it raised the chance the Seekers would see Prowl's black bits and target them before the relative safety of the acid was reached. Swiftly, Jazz detached all but one item from himself and attached them to Prowl, just about shoving the mouthpiece into Prowl's mouth and the shield down over his face. Finished, he gathered him close so Prowl's head was against his chest, his arms around Prowl's shoulders and Prowl's arms around his waist. Angling them back on the vertical plane, he barely had time to lock his mask and horn-protectors into place before they hit the cloud.

The increased speed and decreased exposure to the acid was both a boon and a drawback. His systems, when he stopped breathing, attempted to switch over to automatic air cooling. He aborted the switch, ignoring the climbing temperature gage in the corner of his vision. Prowl shifted in his grip, no doubt feeling the abrupt rise in his armor temperature-- it didn't matter, they were almost through the clouds--

Though it was tempting, he didn't gasp as soon as the fog cleared. Only after another ten nanoclicks of free fall did he allow himself to exhale completely and take a careful breath, attempting to breathe past the urge to cough. Though the air appeared clear beneath the cloud he knew from hard learned experience that it was just as potentially deadly as the fog itself. _Later. I can die later. Right now is Saving Prowl's Life time._ Half a click passed and they were still falling. _The release was supposed to have happened by now. Slag, did the fast fall keep the acid from the release? Damnit! The acid should have corroded the catches enough for them to fail--_

The catches failed. The chute opened, followed moments later by the glider clicking into place onto the modified skids. Willing Prowl to hold on, Jazz let him go and grabbed the control wires, steeling himself against the burn of the condensed acid beads still clinging to their surface. Prowl scrabbled for a moment, startled by Jazz letting him go, but maintained his grip, no doubt either utterly bewildered by the goings on or increasingly angry at the absence of any warning of Jazz's next move. Prowl probably didn't realize that there were several things stopping Jazz from speaking: a comm signal, even this short range, could be traced, the armor would make it necessary for Jazz to shout in order to be heard which was noise they couldn't afford and a purely selfish motive on Jazz's part on not wanting to get the acid inside his vocalizer. He loved to sing, after all, and there were some things a medic couldn't duplicate in repair.

Fortunately the worst was over. Jazz was confident that the Seekers wouldn't risk their lives diving through the acid cloud unless they had something substantial to follow; they never had before and he saw no reason for them to risk their intakes now. They didn't have Ratchet, after all, to clean them up. _Then again, I might not have Ratchet either, if I can't convince him that I'm worth the work._

Prowl didn't know the verbal command to get the armor off and apparently didn't want to risk letting go with even one hand to hit the manual release. Which was just fine with Jazz; it left him with a welcome silence in which to concentrate on getting the both of them to the familiar landing ledge. He found the normally touchy controls responded with more precision with the added weight, which was something to consider at another time but was a thankful lucky break at the moment.

The ledge came into view, prompting a relieved smile behind his mask. Prowl's feet touched down first. Despite the lack of warning he didn't stumble, letting go of Jazz and reaching up to get rid of the armor, jerking the breathing tube from his mouth at the same time. He looked mildly irritated, Jazz decided as his own feet touched down and he detached the glider from his back to drift into the fog and disappear. It would dissolve without a trace within half a megacycle.

Striding forward, Prowl raised his hands to grip Jazz's shoulders, shaking him slightly. "What in Primus' name--"

They both heard the crack at the same time and froze, but it wasn't enough. Jazz's attempt to thrust Prowl back onto safe ground only succeeded in tangling their arms together as the ledge gave way beneath them.


	9. Chapter 9

"Oooowwww..."

The fist thing he heard was his own groan. The next few cycles were taken up with coughing since he had forgotten to be careful about his breathing. Arms circling him let him know that either Prowl had survived the unexpected fall at the end of the expected fall or that they had been captured. "Oh, I hurt," he muttered, allowing the friendly arms to help him untangle from the ledge debris, unveiling several new hurts he had been unaware of. "Oh, oh, oh. Much hurtings."

"That is a relief," came Prowl's relieved and disapproving tone. Amazing how the mech could be capable of expressing two such conflicting opinions at the same time, but that was Prowl. "I was beginning to think you had no sense of pain."

_Wait. What?_ Jazz powered his visor on and was rewarded with a fuzzy image of Prowl's handsomely concerned features. "Wait," he said, weakly protesting, "no fair."

"What is not fair, besides life in general?" Prowl asked, helping him over to sit along some sort of wall.

"No fair showin' a sense of humor now. Not when I'm dead or dreamin'," Jazz muttered, letting his visor go dark again.

"You are neither dead nor dreaming," Prowl informed him calmly. From the ambient sounds and the faint sensations coming from one leg, the tactician was beginning to do what repairs he could to get Jazz up and walking.

"You're right," Jazz agreed after a few moments of thoughtful silence. "I hurt too much for either. So. What brought this on?"

"Brought what on?"

The agent groaned, fixing Prowl with a glare from a dim visor. "No fair," he repeated, "be nice. I'm processor cracked."

"That is hardly a new development, unless you are finally admitting to it."

Jazz contemplated Prowl's ever so slightly amused expression, trying to equate the other mech's behavior with what he was more familiar with. "You're confusin' me."

"You confuse me on a regular basis. It is only fair for me to return the favor."

That was... "True." And logical. Blast him. Still, Jazz was beginning to have fun, despite the various aches and the fact that his visor was rendering everything into a hazy mash of colors and forms. It was marginally better than his optics, so he left it on. "You gonna be like this when we get back or is this a private mood, just for me?"

"Just for hover-racers with a habit of attempted suicide, I assure you." Prowl shot Jazz a look. Or so Jazz supposed, from his shift in posture. "You were far more prepared for that than you appeared. I take it you have made that particular 'leap of faith' before this. Which begs the question of why you did not bother to inform me as we were falling or better yet, before we jumped at all."

"Few times, ye--" The words caught in his throat and he jerked forward in a cough, his mask instantly sliding into place to protect Prowl from any acid residue he managed to get out, if Prowl asked. If he didn't, it was to hide the mech fluid he could feel hitting his palate.

During one of the cough-jerks a sharp burn in his leg was accompanied by a soft curse from Prowl.

Startled, Jazz recovered enough to give him a bewildered look. "Who're you an' what've you done with Prowl?" He asked after catching his breath and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. The mask had retracted when the coughing had stopped. "A sense of humor is one thing, but cursin' is all together different!"

The tactician was scowling down at the panel in Jazz's leg he had been working in. Hopefully this meant he hadn't seen the glitter of mechfluid on the back of Jazz's hand before he wiped it casually on his side. "The third cough jerked the primary control relay into my welder. It's fused."

Leaning over to look into the panel, Jazz repeated Prowl's soft curse. "I don't got a replacement for that," he murmured, frowning. "Looks like you'll have t'go on withou--"

"No." The refusal was Prowl's 'I'm through compromising' tone.

In return, Jazz gave him a 'oh, really' look. "If I can't walk, the logical choice is t'have you go get--"

" _No._ " Prowl turned and jabbed a finger into Jazz's chest. "I am not leaving you behind, defenseless, in some unknown part of Cybertron. Logic does not dictate leaving you behind. Logic dictates that I carry you."

"It does not," Jazz argued, "an' I'm hardly defenseless."

"You can hardly see your visor is so etched, you can not stand thanks to this and you can not breathe due to the corrosion in your intakes. Do not think I can not see the mechfluid on the back of your hand from where you cleaned your mouth. You are in need of Ratchet's care, ergo, I am carrying you. End of conversation."

Jazz watched Prowl gather up the tools he had been using in the attempt to repair Jazz's damage. There was real worry and fear in the tactician's posture, which prompted Jazz to reach out and put his cleaner hand on Prowl's shoulder. "I'll be just fine," he murmured in the gentle tone used to soothe Bluestreak.

"Either you are programmed never to see the worst in a situation or you _are_ processor cracked," Prowl told him, settling to sit next to where Jazz was propped against the wall. "But thank you for the vote of confidence."


	10. Chapter 10

"Are you awake?"

Prowl's quiet tones slipped into the silence, lending their cobalt tones to the silver tinted darkness. They had been waking for quite a while, though Jazz wasn't entirely sure how long; when in this kind of situation he turned off his chronometer to prevent himself from paying more attention to it than to the route. It would probably be more accurate and fair to say that Prowl had been walking while carrying Jazz on his back. Every now and again the light from his optics would reflect off of a particularly smooth spot on a wall or a new pipe appearing along the ceiling. 

"Yah." Jazz shifted slightly, adjusting his weight to be easier for Prowl to bear. "What's up?"

"You are being uncommonly quiet." 

Resting his chin on Prowl's shoulder, Jazz powered his visor on, lending its diffused light to the path ahead. "This's nice."

"You are a mech of perpetual motion," Prowl objected. "Never still, never quiet."

"In public."

Prowl fell quiet, aura thoughtful. "Are you not in public now?"

"Y'don't count as public: yer Prowl." Jazz gave a breathy laugh, shaking his head slightly. "Don' wear your processor over it, though."

"You know I will," Prowl murmured, tone now slightly irritated, "simply because it was said."

Jazz grinned. The longer they were pacing the unknown labyrinth of Cybertron's innards, the more personable Prowl became. "You should work on that. Could be a' exploitable weakness."

Now it was Prowl's turn to make a thoughtful noise. "Thank you." Nothing more was said for quite some time. Again, it was Prowl who disrupted the silence. "We work well together."

Jazz lit his visor, resting his chin on the shoulder his cheek had been against and glancing at what of Prowl's face he could see. The tactician seemed serious and thoughtful, though gentler than usual. "We do," he agreed, voice quiet. "I help you be spontaneous an' you steady me out."

"Indeed."

Prowl's expression was impossible to read, so Jazz felt through his aura instead. Thoughtful, like before, but steady and sure, like he had made a decision. His next words proved this hypotheses. "We are currently without a third in command."

A grunt was Jazz's only reply, though it was more at a slight stumble from Prowl's foot hitting an unexpected snag. "You okay?"

"I am fine," Prowl replied softly, pausing to glance around.

"Here, put me down," Jazz said, shifting to get out of Prowl's grip. "I'll walk a while."

"Your leg repairs have not finished," Prowl objected, frowning. "Your visor and intakes have not been touched. Jazz--"

Jazz freed himself and slipped to the ground, wobbling only slightly. "So? I can walk." He proved the theory by limping a few steps. His breath rasped, but was steady and he didn't begin coughing, thankfully. He figured he would never get Prowl to take a break if he did. "An' since I can walk, that means I can take the pressure off you."

"Something else you are good at," Prowl murmured. He watched Jazz for a few moments, expression unreadable. 

Jazz bowed, grinning. "Why thank you, Prowl. Keep complimentin' me, I might start believin' you like me or somethin'."

"I think you would make a good third in command," Prowl told him steadily. "I am going to recommend you to Prime when we get back to Iacon."

"Pass," was Jazz's immediate response, waving one hand in dismissal. "I don't want to live in a box. You do your best work in boxes. I do mine outside 'em."

"We would be working together daily." Prowl said, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm flattered," Jazz said, grinning. "Best flirt I've heard from you yet."

"Can you blame me for wanting to keep an optic on you, considering what just happened?" Prowl asked, frowning slightly.

"I don't want t'work with you all day, every day," Jazz told him, stretching his arms behind his head.

"What?" Jazz had expected Prowl's shock and surprise, but not the hurt in his tone. "Why not?"

"Working together, day in, day out, we would both go stale," Jazz told him gently. "Predictable. "An' we both know predictable equals death on the front lines."

"You should be third in command," Prowl insisted, shaking his head and pushing from the wall to continue to walk. Jazz fell into step just behind him, letting Prowl lead the way but walking on his own. He felt the rasp in his intakes increase, but didn't ask to slow the pace.

"I won't be," Jazz said firmly. "I'll be head of SpecOps. But I won't be third in command. I don't want to go stale with you." He dropped a hand onto Prowl's shoulder, stopping him. "I'd sooner keep goin' like we have been then let what we're gonna have get passé."


	11. Chapter 11

"I--"

"Oh, hey, I recognize this."

The abrupt shift in topic shouldn't have startled Prowl, but it did. "Recognize-- you can hardly see."

"But there is that barely part of it. 'Sides, it's not what I see that I recognize. It's what I feel." One of Jazz's hands was pressed against the wall, his chin tilted toward the roof of the tunnel. Inexplicably, he was smiling, visor dimmed in such a way that it gave illusion to him having mostly closed optics.

"Are you delusional?" Prowl asked quietly, prompting a soft laugh from the saboteur. 

"Shh. Cybertron's energy is nearby. If we follow it, we'll find Iacon," Jazz told him, beginning to walk again with one hand still on the wall. The claim had Prowl placing his own hands on the wall without conscious direction from his processor. The energy faintly pulsing under his palms put surprise on his face.

"How did you discover this?" The tactician asked, removing his hands from the wall to follow Jazz. 

"Like I discover most everythin'," Jazz said with a breathy laugh. "By accident."

"I do not understand...you." Prowl shook his head, catching up to drape one of Jazz's arms over his shoulders. 

"Don't ever try, I'll break your processor," Jazz said.

"I want to," Prowl murmured, looking over at his companion. "Have I not made that clear?"

Jazz's smirk was his only answer for the next impossibly long time. By the time he stopped walking, leaning with his shoulder on the tunnel wall, Prowl was forced to admit his own fatigue.

"Jazz," he said, pulling his dorsal relay up from the exhausted slump he had allowed it to curve into, "we must rest. We risk undercharge at this rate."

At first, the agent didn't respond. Concerned that he was offline on his feet, Prowl approached and placed a hand on his shoulder. Possibly anticipating his intent to speak, Jazz lifted a palm in a soldier's signal to wait. Breath audibly rasping in his intakes, he lifted his head and pried a panel off the wall. Momentarily, the tunnel wall cracked and slid aside, revealing a spectacular view of Iacon.

"It's all in how you see the world, Prowl," Jazz said, sinking to one knee. "All in the persona you portray. Me? The glass is always half full. Whether it's half full of poison or energon... well. That's a completely different question."

"This is why we must work together," Prowl said, moving to sit beside him. Jazz's head came to rest on his shoulder.

"Don't turn me into a desk-mech," Jazz murmured, visor going dark, "an' I'll accept the third-in-command position. The field is where I shine."

Prowl smiled slightly, raising an arm to brace Jazz's shoulders as he sent out an emergency medical signal over his comm. "I would not dream of attempting to dim your brilliance, Jazz."

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last Transformers piece I wrote. Not because I wanted it to be, but because I was already struggling under a writer's block that has lasted to this day. I honestly don't like this piece due to its disjointed nature.


End file.
